


Bound To Fall

by TheDeadlyViper



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Homophobia, Kinda, Language Kink, M/M, MMA - AU, Mixed Martial Arts, Mostly Vanilla Smut, Slurs, Strong Language, Top Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-02
Updated: 2018-11-10
Packaged: 2019-08-14 15:17:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16495157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDeadlyViper/pseuds/TheDeadlyViper
Summary: Sam reverses the video he'd pulled up on his phone until the exact moment where the guy’s opponent’s arm breaks. Steve gives a hiss in response, wincing.“That had to hurt.” he says.“Yeah. That’s who you’re fighting next.” Sam says, almost apologetically. Steve straightens up.“What? Hell no!” They are sitting in Sam's office in the gym where Steve trains.Winter is a well-known name in fighting circles. Steve had asked why they called him Winter.“Cause he’s cold as ice.” Sam had said. Steve had almost shivered, feeling the chill.





	1. Chapter 1

Sam reverses the video he'd pulled up on his phone until the exact moment where the guy’s opponent’s arm breaks. Steve gives a hiss in response, wincing.

“That had to hurt.” he says.

“Yeah. That’s who you’re fighting next.” Sam says, almost apologetically. Steve straightens up.

“What? Hell no!” They are sitting in Sam's office in the gym where Steve trains. Winter is a well-known name in fighting circles. Steve had asked why they called him Winter.

“Cause he’s cold as ice.” Sam had said. Steve had almost shivered, feeling the chill. He was a good fighter. Not great, maybe. But good enough. He’d been a first string wrestler in high school. Had gotten a scholarship ride out of it. Then his mother had gotten sick. Steve's grades dropped. He can still recall in vivid detail to this day how Sarah Rogers had looked. All small and fragile in a hospital bed. And how she’d looked when she found out that Steve had dropped out. So, when the cancer had finally taken Sarah, with no other alternative, Steve was off into a three year stint with the U.S. Army. And it was there that he had first started fighting. It had been a good way to help him navigate through his emotions. A way to crystalize every feeling into a single movement and give it outlet. And he was good. Between combat training and wrestling, he quickly rose up in the limited military arenas. After winning several Army title fights and his stint ended, he decided to give it a real shot at going pro. So he’d gone home to Brooklyn and run into Sam Wilson by happenstance. Sam was ex military himself and had set to training full-time, after shattering his knee in a fight. Sam had helped Steve slowly move up in the ranks. He was still leagues away from something like Bellator or UFC, but after a year, he was getting there.

“Look,” Sam tells him. “The guy is good. But you can beat him. You take him down? It’s over.” Steve swallows. Winter has a reputation for brutality. He hits hard and he goes in for vicious arm bars, which have resulted in multiple bad breaks and dislocations in past fights. His bars are almost impossible to get out of. Likewise, they are hard to avoid.

“But you can take him down, Steve. You go low and take him down. A lot of his opponents are swingers. The second they take the shot, see - “ He stops the video again.

“There. Now he’s got ‘em.” Steve scowls in response.

“How do you expect me to take him down without using my arms?” He snaps, irritated.

What Steve does know about Winter is limited mostly to his stats and a very brief history. He’s 13 to 3 with 2 KO’s. His style is mostly classic boxing moves, but he’s got some Judo training. He’d gotten his start in underground fighting rings in Romania and in Russia and that part is a little spotty since most of those underground rings were highly illegal. At any rate, after that, he’d moved up to the American arena. That same brutality is moving him up fast.

"Sorry, Rogers. You're gonna have to fight this guy sooner or later. Might as well be now." Sam tells him.

On the night of the fight, Steve can’t help but think that the guy looks like a comic book villain. Or maybe a stand-in for a death metal band. Black makeup runs down his face, smudged underneath his eyes. He’s also, Steve notices, got model good looks. A perfectly curved jawline, eyes that shimmer somewhere between green and blue and his hair is tied up back in a tight bun. There’s a red star etched into his left shoulder, outlined in black and Steve can’t help but briefly wonder if he’s inked up anywhere else. Even though, the guy is glaring at him like he’s already breaking him in half, Steve holds his gaze steadily back. The announcer rings them in and Winter’s heartbeat is somewhere up in his throat, beating out an insane rhythm. The ‘supplements’ they give him before a fight always jack him up. He’s not sure exactly what they are, somewhere between the line of ‘illegal’ and ‘not-detectable in piss’ But he knows they are stimulant in nature. And he hates them. They make him anxious and when they wear off, they leave him feeling shaky and sick.

The first round goes quick, with neither Steve or Winter making much headway. The second is a lot tougher. Steve takes a few hard body shots, which, he already knows are just taunting. Trying to get Steve to start taking shots so Winter can get him down. It happens as they are grappling up against the corner. The pain that brings Steve downto his knees, his arm pinned against him, his vision flashing bright white. And for a solid two seconds, Steve thinks, Well, that's it. He's lost. Worse still, he's on the verge of a really ugly break. Then he wrenches to the side and amazingly, Winter’s grip weakens. Steve is going to do it. He's going to break the hold. He doesn't waste any time, the second Winter's grip slips, he twists around him and pins him down. And for a minute, when he's getting him down, the guy looks at him with something like pure hate. Then the timer starts and Steve is thinking, _holy shit. This guy isn't gonna tap out. He's just gonna let me choke him._ But it comes a few seconds later. And Steve still can't believe it. He won. He actually won. Sitting in the corner after the match, James can feel the saliva running down his chin when he’s gritting his teeth together against a sickening wave of pain when the doctor starts palpitating the small broken bones in his hand, trying to figure out how much worse the break had gotten. It had happened in a fight only a week earlier. His vision starts to blur.

“Doare.” _It hurts._ He groans, panting. His trainer snaps back at him, in Russian, to shut up and sit still. James has fought through injuries before. But not like this. Nothing like this. He gasps. Everything is starting to gray around the edges.

“Ceed ca ma duc sa leșin.” _I’m going to pass out._ Illya makes an irritated noise and digs in his pockets, dropping a handful of pills into Winter’s good hand, which he swallows dry. Illya’s rage is palpable when he steps into the locker room and James hardly looks up. The pain pills he’d swallowed are beginning to make him feel fuzzy and slow. It’s hard to keep himself up sitting on the bench until there’s a loud slamming noise near his head that makes his ears ring.

“What the hell is wrong with you?! You had him! You fucking had him and you let him go! Moron! Romanian scum!” Illya is screaming at him in rapid-fire Russian and in someway, it’s a bit of a relief. His boiling over rather than sitting and waiting for it. “Do you know how much you’ve cost me? Do YOU?!” There’s another thud. “It’s going to cost  _you!_ ” James sucks on his lip and he’d more or less expected that. He’d be lucky if Illya paid him at all. Which was something he could handle. He had survived on next to nothing before. But, Rebekka...His poor sweet sister. She depended on James’ earnings to keep herself fed and warm, back home in Constanța. Guilt washes over him and he’s angry with himself. For once, Illya is right. He had had Rogers down. If only he had just pushed a little harder.

It isn’t until much later that Steve learns that he’d only won the fight on a technicality. Sam had been congratulating him on the win and Steve had said he worried he’d broken Winter’s hand.

“Did you see his face when the ring doc touched it?” He said. “He was hurt. Hurt bad.” Sam shook his head.

“Not your fault. Word is that he sustained a bad fracture a week or so ago.” If that was supposed to comfort Steve, it doesn’t.

“What? You mean, he fought me with a broken hand?” Steve’s face goes a little white. “Who the fuck fights with a _broken hand_?!” Sam can’t help arching his brow in response.

“That guy?” Steve shook his head.

“But that’s...I didn’t even win!”

“Oh, yes you did.” Sam said immediately. Steve crossed his arms and stuck his lip out petulantly.

“It ain’t winnin’ if the other guy can’t fight back.”

“Now look,” Sam said. “I know you’ve got this, upright moral compass or something? But, the rules are pretty clear on this. The guy still entered into the fight. He lost. You won. It’s that simple.” Steve gave him such a long, lingering stare that Sam finally said it.

“You’re not gonna let this go, are you?”

“Not a chance.” said Steve.

It doesn’t take Steve long to track James down and figure out which gym he trains in. And he starts turning up regularly. Either running right next to him on the treadmills or offering to spot him while he lifts weights when his cast comes off. They don’t exchange much in way of words, given the language barrier. But Steve does start carrying around a Romanian translation book, to James’ great amusement. Finally, one evening, when he and the blonde are the last two to filter out, James steps up to him, and says in accented English,.

“What do you want?” Steve licks his lips nervously.

“A rematch.” He says faintly. The Romanian stares him down before he says,

“vrei un rematch?” _You want a rematch?_ He stalks off somewhere and comes back a few minutes later and throws gloves at Steve. “Aici.” _Here._ Steve pulls the gloves on and follows James into the center of the gym where the mats are laid out. He swallows a thread of anxiety because when they stand, face to face and tap gloves, the man just looks furious. He’s less than surprised when a minute later, James swings at him and Steve almost doesn’t block it. While he makes several swipes at Steve’s face, he’s saying,

“Ai câştigat.” _You won._ “de ce mă urmărești?” _Why are you following me?_ Another swipe and Steve jumps back this time. “De ce nu mă lași în pace?” _Why don’t you leave me_ _alone?_ After that, Steve starts fighting back in earnest, blocking his shots and forcing him back. He lunges forward for a takedown and then Steve is caught again. With his hand fully healed, he’s much stronger and the grip on Steve’s arm is iron. As he’s being forced down against the mat, pinned, all he can think is, ‘ _God. Really_?’ All the strength is draining from him because he’s hard. Painfully so. Which isn’t really all that unusual. Lots of guys got hard from a rush of adrenaline. But in a practice fight like this, it was a little weird. Steve has never had this problem before, ever. But the more time he’d spent alone with the Romanian fighter, the more fantasies he’d been taking home with him at night. Fantasies of sucking on that perfect mouth, until his lips were red and wet. Running his hands over that perfect body, while he straddles him. And apparently, his traitorous body has chosen exactly now to make those fantasies very obvious.

“Fuck.” He mutters, hoping against hope that the guy doesn’t notice. Of course, neither of them have any protective gear between them and the second the blonde flips over, he knows the guy notices. Because his eyes suddenly get wide and for a minute, they just stare at one another, Steve’s face burning until James stands and holds out a hand to help him up. Then he is muttering something and walking off toward the locker room.

Steve has to take some time to let his erection go down before he follows him. He’s not looking forward to it, but avoiding walking in there would be even worse. So he steps into the locker room and when he gets in there, James is already in the showers. Steve tries not to look, but he can’t help it. He looks over and then his mouth goes dry. The water is running down his compact, efficient body. Each line and plane of hard muscle wet and shining. Steve slips his shirt over his head and slides his pants off, setting them carefully on the bench before he goes in in after him. He gives a couple feet of distance and turns on the water, stepping into the warm spray. His heart thuds dully inhis ears as he rubs soap down his chest. He takes another small peek over to his left and right then, his heart nearly stops. James is leaning against the wall, head dipped forward and hair wet and running into his face. And oh God. His hand is wrapped around his dick, slowly stroking up and down. Steve swallows. Hard. Then James speaks,

“veni.” He says in a rough voice. And Steve knows that one. _Come._ Steve sucks in a breath and steps toward him. His hand is shaking when he reaches out. He runs his hand along his lower back. James reaches behind him for Steve’s hand and pulls him closer, so that Steve's pressed up against him.

“E în regulă. Mi-o tragi.” _It's okay. Fuck me._ He says and Steve doesn’t know the meaning exactly, but he’s got a few good guesses when he jerks his hips against him.

“I don’t - “ Steve begins, but James repeats the same thing, more forcefully.

“Okay, okay. I got you.” Steve mutters in response. He gets a grip on his hips and the wet from the water is a great help as he slides up into him. James sucks in a breath and Steve is momentarily still, waiting and breathing hard. Then James rocks back against him, giving a soft moan. And it’s so hot and it feels so good. Steve tightens his grip on him and braces himself against the wall with the other hand for support. James is moaning and murmuring things that make Steve desperately wish he had that little book as he thrusts into him. He reaches around to his front and gets his hand around him, moving his hand up and down in time with his movements. He doesn’t want it to be over so fast, but it feels too good and Steve has to pull out suddenly and he moves his hand a couple of times and then comes hard, panting against James neck. A second later, he can feel James shivering too. And then, James turns off the water and walks out without another word. Steve hears the door thud close, where he stands, utterly confused.

 _What the_ _hell was that about?_

James sincerely hoped he’d pleased Steve. He’d finally understood, as they’d wrestled for position down on the mat during their practice run. He’d understood at last what Steve was after. There was no mistaking the look in his eyes as James had held him down. He’d seen it enough in men and women alike, sometimes. And that’s okay. He prefers sleeping with men and Steve is very attractive with his blonde hair and bright, blue eyes and he’d come to hate him a lot less in the past few weeks. And he’d been desperately lonely. He’d never seen a reason to hide his inclinations before, in Romania. Until in Moscow, he’d been caught in an alley after a fight by his trainer. The man had shamed him for it. Thrown him on his knees in front of Aleksander Petrov. The big boss.

 _‘Guess where I caught this one?_ ’ The boss is surprisingly calm when he gets the answer. He says,

 _‘What did you expect? He’s a filthy gyp. They’re all perverts.’_ Aleksander had looked down at him and said,

 _‘So, you like sucking cock?’_ And James had stayed quiet, focused on the floor in front of him, knowing better than to speak. _‘Well. Behave yourself. Maybe we’ll let you suck Petyr’s cock._ ’ he said, gesturing to the man standing next to him to a volley of laughter. So, in the past year and a half, James has kept to himself. Other than a couple of encounters with escorts he’d found in the backpages. Which had done nothing to relieve the awful isolation. The great void of loneliness inside. A million miles away from everything he knows, in a country that doesn’t understand him. On the following Thursday, James has a fight and he’s surprised to see a flash of blonde hair, there in the front row. He didn’t even know that Steve was aware that he was on the roster. And he certainly didn't expect Steve to want to stick around much longer. He glances over and Steve raises a fist when they lock eyes through the wire. James returns the gesture as his card flashes up on the screen. He tries to steady his breathing as he eyes the guy across from him. He’s a Brazilian jiu jitsu fighter whose fairly evenly matched to him. But he’s out of practice. It had taken almost a month for his brokenhand to heal and he loses. As he pulls himself up off the canvased floor, he glances over at his trainer with two men who flank his sides and swallows cold fear when Illya looks at him and cuts his hand across his throat, teeth clenched.

Steve had been pacing during James’ fight, walking around and staying just a few feet out Illya Kozov’s sphere of existence. He’s got a bad feeling already which is only increased when he catches sight of the two guys with Illya. When the match ends, he hurries back into the locker room to find James and his heart pounds when he can’t find him. He steps outside and hears a shuffling and muffled shouting from the corner of the building and there. Illya’s two guys have James pinned against the building and one of them is hitting him. As Steve approaches, he realizes he’s walking into a losing battle. It’s three against one and he’s guessing at least two of them are armed. On other hand, he’s willing to take the bet that none of these guys are going to risk hurting him. If they did, they’d have to deal with Sam and Steve’s other financial backers for doing damage to their investment. So he steps up.

“Hey! Let him go!” He hollers, fists clenched at his sides. Illya’s head snaps to the side and he scoffs.

“Ah ha. Your boyfriend, James.” He mumbles. He seems to consider the situation and he must have come to the same conclusion that Steve had because after a minute, he waves his hand and the two goons drop James onto his knees. Illya crouches down, James coughing for breath and says something to him in Russian. Then spits and tosses the remains of his cigarette in his direction before standing up and walking off with his two companions.

“James!” Steve reaches over for the brunette. “Are you okay? Can you stand?” He gets an arm around his waist and hoists him to his feet and James is grateful he’s there, because he nearly goes down again. He spits a mouthful of bloody saliva onto the street and wipes it on his hand.

“Sunt bine. Sunt bine.” _I’m okay_. He says. Steve runs a soothing hand up his back and says,

“Let me take you home.”

They go back to James’ apartment, situated in Red Hook. Steve hadn’t expected prosperity, but they have to walk up six flights of stairs. It's damp and dark, cave-like. It’s also strangely devoid of personality. Aside from a few pieces of worn furniture, very little else indicates that anyone actually occupies the place. Steve sits him down in a chair in the kitchen and digs in the freezer and comes up with an ice pack, in the back, that he wraps in a towel and leans down to hold against James’ swelling jaw. He has a million questions, first and foremost, why would James tolerate this stuff? It doesn’t make any sense. There’s got to be something he isn’t understanding. After awhile, James gets up and goes into the bathroom and after a minute, Steve hears the water running in the shower. While James showers, he flips through his phone in an attempt to find translations for his questions. When he finally steps out, dressed only in a towel, Steve glances up. James approaches him.

“vrei să mi-o tragi?” _Do you want to fuck me?_ He asks. And even if he hadn’t recognized familiar words, his meaning becomes pretty clear when he drops the towel to the floor. James tilts his head  slightly, in the direction of the bedroom. Steve doesn’t think he’s ever stood up faster in his life as he follows the Romanian into the bedroom, stripping as he goes. James climbs up on the bed, positioning himself on his hands and knees and waits. And as tempting as that is, Steve says,

“No. This way.” And James shifts up and Steve gently turns him, James letting himself be laid on his back. He's expecting to have Steve hitch his knees up, but instead, the blonde leans down, kissing him. James reaches up and slides his arms around his neck, melting into the kiss, tongue darting out to suck on his lip. Steve moves to press his mouth to his neck and his hand moves between the brunette's legs. He's already half-hard, but with Steve's help, is soon fully hard. Steve shifts himself down and with a significant look, gets his mouth around James. James gives a low moan as Steve's warm, wet mouth comes around him. His hand comes up to tangle fingers in blonde hair while the other scrambles to find purchase, gripping a fistful of bedsheet. He gasps shakily as Steve begins to move up and down, finding rhythm. His grip goes tighter when Steve leans back, flicking and twisting his wrist and sucks in another moan when he dives back down, deeper. He can feel the coiling heat, down in his belly and groin getting tighter. Steve runs his tongue along the head, pre-cum dribbling into his mouth. James wants to tell Steve that he's going to come, but settles for squeezing his shoulder. Then Steve pauses, sucking softly until James cries out, holding Steve tight when he comes, throbbing hot into his mouth. Steve swallows and reaches over to spit into a tissue from the bedside table. James sits up, catching his breath again.

“T-thank you.” He says shakily and Steve blushes. What was he supposed to say to that? So he just reaches over, brushing his knuckles lightly against his jaw. James leans into the touch, giving Steve’s hand a soft pat before pulling away. He moves over to sit on the edge of the bed and Steve is still dressing himself when he notices that James is shaking, face buried in his hands. Steve goes over to crouch down in front of him and touches his arm.

“Hey. What did I do? What is it?” He whispers. James moves his hands and looks down at him, tears running down his face.

“Nu...pot..”  _I can't._ He murmurs. Steve groans, sad and angry that he can’t ask all the things he wants to ask. Suddenly, a thought occurs to him. He practically bolts from the room and comes back with his cellphone. Natasha Romanov is a friend of both he and Sam’s. She’s primarily a trainer for women’s MMA, but she still fights on occasion. She’s also a Russian expat. She speaks a little Romanian and Steve is hoping the two can meet somewhere in the middle. Steve puts the phone on speaker. Natasha says something and James says something back, looks at Steve imploringly as he says it. And Natasha says,

“Steve? James is saying that he doesn’t want to worry you. He says he’s afraid that if you understand, that you’ll try to help and that will make things worse for him.” Steve thinks, pacing and then leans down and says,

“Tell him to give me a chance. If - if he really doesn’t want me to help? Then fine. But at least, help me understand.” He says. Natasha and James exchange words before James takes a breath and talks for awhile, hands gripping his knees. Natasha says something. Something that sounds angry. Then James is answering, his voice shaking with emotion. It’s hard to stay still, Steve reaches over and rubs his shoulder.

“What is it, Natasha? What can I do?” He asks. Natasha is quiet for a moment and when she speaks, her voice is anxious.

“Steve, I don’t know if there’s anything that you can do. James is in a really bad situation. He has a sister, back in Romania. When his father died, they were very desperate for money. Steve, he’s trapped underneath contract. With his sister as collateral with what basically amounts to the Russian mob.” Steve begins to pace again, glancing for a moment in James’ direction.

“Isn’t there a way? Can’t we break his contract? Get his sister here?” He says.

“How do you propose to do that? Take on the Russian mafia?” Natasha asks. Steve crouches down again, in front of James and reaches for his hand.

“I don’t...know, Natasha. But I’ll find a way.”

“Steve,” Sam tells him as Steve is sitting in his office the very following day, pleading his case with his trainer turned manager. “I’m not sure what you think I can do. I can’t

force them to break his contract.”

“So _buy_ it!” Steve says desperately. “This is all about money, isn’t it? He’s good, you know he’s good - “

Sam cuts him off, holding up a hand.

“That’s not the problem. I don’t have that kind of bankroll.” He says.

“Sam, please! You have to do something! They’re going to kill him!” Steve slams his hand onto the desk, shuddering. Sam leans back crossing arms over his chest.

“Alright. Just. Let me think, okay?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smutty smut smut.

It doesn't take Sam long to come up with a possible solution.

“Now, I'm not gonna make any promises. It's worth a shot, though.” Sam tells Steve as they step into the glittering glass skyscrapers of Stark towers.

“Jesus. This guy must be loaded.” Steve observes as they go from the lobby into the elevators.

“Yep. And he's got a finger in just about every pie you can think of. Technology. Communications. And sports.” Sam says.

“But he's clean?” Steve asks. Sam nods.

“As a whistle. Everything is one hundred percent legal.” Steve gives a nod. When they come in, a robotic voice announces their arrival. And they are ushered into a conference room with a long table. The man in front of them is pacing in front of the glass but he bounds over to them when they come in.

“Wilson.” He nods in Sam's direction and shakes Steve's hand, then directs them toward the table. Sam tries to give a brief overview. How Steve had fought Winter and won. How the man had fought injured. How he was drugged up and beaten. Tony listens to this all without interruption. When Sam winds down, he says,

“So, you want me to...do what exactly.”

“Buy him out.” Sam says, flattening his hands on the table.

“From...Aleksander Petrov.” He clarifies.

“Uh. Well...yeah.” Sam nods. Tony taps his fingers, in thought.

“This is a hell of an ask, Sam.” he says.

“Even if I wanted to make a deal with Russian mobsters. Which I don't. This puts me at a lot of risk.”

“I know, man. If there were any other way…’ Sam sighs.

“It's not just that it's a risk for me. I've got a great security team but, Petrov is into a lot of nasty stuff. Drugs. Illegal arms. All kinds of stuff I don't want to mess with. What if the FBI gets on his ass? Could take me right down with him.” Tony says. Sam nods.

“I know. But look. I got an idea for that too. We do this in three parts. Make it look like I'm the one buyin’ up Winter's contract. Then I pass it over your way.” Steve quickly looks over at Sam. He hadn't been aware of this part of the plan. Suddenly, his heart is warmed with love for the man. Tony taps his fingers again.

“Okay. How about this. Steve? You fight my guy? If you win. I'll buy both you guys out. I need to know that this much risk is worth it. That good with you, Wilson?” Sam nods.

“Steve?” The blonde holds out a hand.

“It's a deal.”

A few days go by and Steve doesn't catch James at the gym. Of course, he worries himself sick and finally goes to seek the man out. He knocks on the door for so long, Steve thinks he's gone, but eventually he does come. Then Steve's heart breaks. He looks so tired. So worn.

“James! Are you okay?!” James steps aside, letting him pass, but looks down, despite having understood the question just fine. Steve stops in front of him and nudges his chin up.

“I was worried.” He says.

“îmi pare rău.” _I’m sorry_. He gets his arms around his waist and feels like sobbing. But he won't give in to the urge. Instead, he pulls Steve close and kisses him. Then turns him in the direction of the bedroom. While Steve sits on the edge of the bed, James turns his back to him and pulls his shirt up over his head.

“Jesus. Jesus Christ!” Steve exclaims. He's got bruises everywhere. On his sides, his back, in various states of healing. Which wasn't terribly unusual for a fighter to have. Except they are so big. And in such awful spots. Steve knows this wasn't caused by some fight. There's a general rule of good sportsmanship that keeps certain areas out of bounds. Like the throat, the kidneys. These were considered kill shots. Punches and kicks designed to deal death. No fighter would cause this type of injury. Steve jumps up and gently traces his side.

“James. What the hell?” He murmurs. James, who had been staring at the floor, slowly faces him.

“Sunt bine.” _I’m okay_. He soothes. Steve shakes his head.

“Because of...me?” He asks, clutching his chest.

“Uita de asta. _Forget about it._ Please.” James replies. But Steve looks like he's going to cry.

“Please?” James repeats in English. “I only want to forget.” Steve doesn't say anything, but he does allow James to push him back, into the bed. Steve gets his shirt off too. James is straddling his knees around Steve's leg and he grinds down, moaning. Steve is too afraid to touch him. He's afraid he'll only cause pain. James eventually steps back. He unbuttons his pants and gestures that Steve should do the same. When they've both stripped, James gently gets Steve to turn onto his belly.

“Am de gând să te fut.” _I’m going to fuck you_. He murmurs, his thumb running up Steve’s spine. And by now, Steve is very aware of close variations on this phrase and he shivers in response. James briefly dips over the side of the bed and then Steve feels the cool liquid on his tender skin. James runs his fingers experimentally up and down, before Steve feels the pressure of the one finger. He gently kisses Steve’s shoulder.

"Da?” He asks.

“Mm-hm.” Steve hums. James keeps up his ministrations, circling his fingers around until the slippery liquid is warmed up to body temperature and James is reaching for condoms. He rips one open with his teeth and a second later, Steve is sucking in a breath and gripping the sheets. He can feel warm fingers, ghosting over his ass cheek, then lips on his neck. He gives a soft moan into the pillow.

“Te simti atat de bine.” He purrs against Steve’s skin. _You feel so good._ And Steve has always thought his voice was sexy, but now it makes warmth curl around his abdomen. James moves his hips. Then, he hits the spot inside that makes Steve whimper. James picks up the pace when he knows he’s in the right spot. Steve could have wept it felt so good. He presses himself against the mattress, getting some desirable friction against the sheets. James tightens his grip, increases the pace even more, before slowing down and moving into deeper, fuller strokes. Steve’s completely lost in the motion, breathing hard, already getting close to completion. When Steve comes, James doesn’t. He simply stops. His thumb rubs circles into Steve’s shoulder blade and he presses his mouth there before flipping Steve over. He spends some time on Steve’s neck and runs the tip of his tongue around a pert, pink nipple. He reaches for the bottle, tossed carelessly aside in the sheets and dollops his hand before working Steve into a state of hardness again. Seeming satisfied, he runs both hands around the outside of the blonde’s thighs, gets him to wrap his legs around his waist, sore as his sides still are. From there, he fucks him efficiently again. Until Steve starts to approach a second orgasm. He reaches up, pressing his hand against James’ abs and chews his lip. James moves his hand down.

“eu vreau să-ți provoc un orgasm.” He tells him. _I wanna make you come_. As soon as James locks his eyes with Steve’s as he works him up again, Steve moans breathily.

"I - I'm gonna come!" He pants and a second later, he’s coming hot against James’ hand. Finally, it seems like James might start to unravel himself because he immediately drops his hand to brace one on either side of Steve and fucks him hard. Steve feels his arms trembling, shaking the bed a little underneath him and then with a final thrust, he makes a gasping, whimpering noise and Steve can feel the strength of his orgasm, all the way in him. After, he collapses beside the blonde, wiped out. Steve uses a corner of the sheet to wipe himself off and scoots over to his lover. He reaches out, covering the red star on his shoulder with his hand, spreading his fingers apart over the points.

“That was...amazing.” He murmurs. “Uimitor.” he clarifies, in Romanian. He’s actually a little shamed over his own very short-lived performance on top. James lifts his head slightly, wiping a few strands of hair from his eyes and grins cheekily. He flips onto his back and ties off the condom. When they are both settled down again, Steve on his side, his elbow underneath him, he reaches forward and curls his finger underneath the necklace that James has around his neck. It’s a bit of black cord with some sort of claw held in place by two beads in the middle.

“ce este acest?” Steve asks. _What is this?_

“cu gheare de urs.” James says. “Bear claw.” He growls. Steve laughs.

“For strength. And courage.” He says. He thinks for a minute. Then slips the thing over his head and puts it around Steve’s neck. Steve looks down at it and then over at James.

“...Te iubesc.” He says, deliberately slowly. _I love you._

“Si eu.” James replies in a whisper right before he draws Steve in to kiss him.


End file.
